


An Afternoon of Fun and Games

by sadistically_sweet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Bottom John Watson, But it's funny!, Couch Cuddles, Diapers, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Gen, I'll tell you right now that Sherlock and Greg only pop up a the end, John is Little, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft is a Softie, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, or at least i hope it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadistically_sweet/pseuds/sadistically_sweet
Summary: Both Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade have been called away for the day, leaving their respective partners behind.Just a small, sweet 'slice-of-life' bonding scene.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 136





	An Afternoon of Fun and Games

The moment that John Watson finally awoke with a snuffle (after being warm and cozy and so deeply, wonderfully asleep), he knew that something was very much Not Right.

First off, he knew damn well that when he’d fallen asleep, he’d done so while curled up on Daddy’s lap. Specifically, he remembered the smell of Da’s conditioner tickling his nose as he’d lain on his shoulder, while long fingers had tapped out an oddly-soothing rhythm along his spine.

Nope. No mistaking that. It was, after all, his favorite way to fall asleep.

Secondly, they had been in the kitchen. Their warm, cluttered-yet-comfortable, bright kitchen.

Now, though? Now, he’d woken up in the dark, in a bed (with cold sheets, at that!), by himself. Alone.

No...no, none of this was right! Not one bit of it!

Jawn sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was dark. Much too dark for his liking. He didn’t even know where he was, it was so dark! He stretched his arm out and groped along the sheets blindly, until his fingers eventually bumped into smooth, cold plastic.

Bars.

It was the bumper...thingy, that Da’ had gotten for their bed, made to keep small children from rolling off as they made the transition from cribs to big beds.

Jawn brought his fingers back and, after letting his dummy fall from his mouth, began to suckle on them instead. Well, he knew where he was, now; in bed. But even so, it didn’t make him feel any better about it.

He felt the beginnings of tears starting to prickle his eyes, and he sniffled. “Da’?...” he tried. His own voice sounded deafening after sitting in the silence of their bedroom.

Of course, there was no answer. Because he was alone.

Or, so he thought. In the midst of all of his other observations, the one thing he’d failed to notice was the small, red, blinking light sitting on the dresser, near the doorway.

Of course, how was he expected to have noticed, when his Daddy was gone??? And he was by himself??? Alone!

Jawns’ throat clenched, and he swallowed painfully against the lump he felt forming in it. That word kept resonating through his head: alone.

Alone.

...A l o n e.

His face crumbled as the first tears rolled down his cheeks and a thin, watery cry squeezed past that awful lump in his throat; “Daaaaa’...!”

The bedroom door opened unexpectedly, and Jawns’ cry was cut off as he blinked at the sudden flood of light hitting him directly in the face. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth to cover his eyes with his hand, and peeked out from between them at the tall, slender figure who was silhouetted in the doorway.

‘...Daddy!’ The tears dribbling down his cheeks turned to ones of relief as Jawn sat up on his knees and reached for him. “Da’!” he babbled excitedly, fingers grasping in the air.

The figure crossed the room and lifted Jawn into their arms, where he settled quite nicely on their hip and nuzzled into the crook of their neck, making small “I’m-happy-and-content-now” noises.

He felt a broad hand come to rest on his lower back and begin making slow, comforting circles with its thumb; “Poor monkey,” they cooed. “Waking up wet and alone...what a terrible tragedy.”

Jawns’ eyes, which had closed during his happy-snuggles, popped open.

Something was still very much Not Right.

It looked like Da’...well, from what he could see (which wasn’t much), and it sure felt like Da’ that he was holding on to, but...but no, the smell was all wrong. Fancier than what his Daddy smelled like. And that was very much Not his voice.

But, while it was very much Not Daddy, Jawn knew exactly who it was.

There was a loud click as the bedside lamp was switched on, and Jawn found himself blinking up at Mycroft.

Which, usually, was okay...he did love his My’coff very much.

Right now, however...My’coff was very much Not Daddy. And that was why, even though My’coff was smiling at him and giving him very good cuddles, Jawn felt his chin start to wobble and his his face back in the crook of Mycroft’s neck as he began to cry all over again.

“Ohhh...oh, oh nooo,” Mycroft tutted as he gently bounced Jawn in his arms. “Poor dove; I know who you thought I was.” He carried Jawn to the end of the bed, where the railing ended, and sat down with the tiny one straddling his lap. “It’s alright,” he said, patting Jawn’s back as he rocked them; “He’ll be back sooner than you think, darling.”

Jawn sniffled and rubbed his cheek along Mycrofts’ shoulder (effectively soaking it, though Mycroft seemed to pay no mind) and took a deep, shaky breath; “Wh-where g-go?” he asked, his fingers plucking at the buttons on Mycrofts’ vest.

Mycroft gently took that hand in his own, and kissed those sad little fingers. “Gregory had to borrow him, darling, but only for a little while.”

It was then that Jawn sat up and blinked his glassy, red-rimmed eyes at him. “Bu’h,” he croaked in a voice still thick with sleep and tears; “Bu’h, n-n’ah me?”

“Oh, love,” Mycroft sighed. “Not this time, not for little boys.”

Jawn could only stare at him for a moment while Mycroft waited patiently for him to process what he’d said, because oh...there were going to be more tears, he suspected.

And, he suspected correctly. “I, I’m n-no’d,” Jawn said, his face crumbling as he fell back on Mycrofts’ shoulder, muffling his cries. “‘m n’od, ‘m no’d!”

‘Oh, dear,’ Mycroft thought to himself as he continued to rock and pat and rock and pat...and then rock and pat some more, allowing the baby to have a good cry because sometimes, that was all anyone needed.

One thing was for certain...he would never again question Sherlocks’ judgement when warning of just how very, very tiny Jawn could be.

It only took a few short (but they felt very long, indeed) minutes until Jawn stopped crying, and only another minute more before Jawn sat up once again, cheeks ruddy and eyes looking ever so sore and scratchy.

“Poor thing,” Mycroft cooed, and kissed Jawns’ warm, damp cheek. “I think a nice bottle is in order after all of that, don’t you agree?”

Jawn nodded, and scrubbed at one very raw eye with his fist.

Mycroft sucked in a quick breath; “Ooo, don’t do that, darling...ouchy!” Mycroft took Jawns’ hand and kissed it, just as he had earlier. “We’ll wash your face and you’ll feel so, so, so, much better,” he said, adding another kiss with each ‘so’. “But first, we need to change that bum of yours.”

“Wa’ss,” Jawn repeated with a small nod.

Mycroft melted right then and there; Tiny Jawn was such a little sweetheart. “Yes, wash your face,” he said, and slid the overgrown babe off of his lap and onto the bed. Which was all well and good, until he stood up and felt Jawn clutch his sleeve with a small whimper.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling.” Mycroft bent down and placed a soft kiss on Jawns’ forehead, after brushing his hair aside. “But we can’t very well change it if your bum’s still sitting on me, can we?” he asked. He hoped to get a giggle out of the wee one...or at the very least, a smile.

And...nope, not even a smile. Just a big pair of big, wet eyes blinking up at him dolefully while making the softest of sounds as he sucked his thumb.

“Oh, darling...I know,” Mycroft sighed, and kissed Jawns’ forehead again. “We have to get you out of that nappy, though. Can we have a lie down so Mycroft can change your soggy pants, hm?”

The little one didn’t give an answer, but neither did he scream or fuss when Mycroft took him by the shoulders and gently ‘helped’ him lie back, so he considered that a win.

The change itself went smoothly as well, with Mycroft speaking softly to him the entire time to keep any more tearful outbursts at bay. Jawn didn’t exactly keep up his end with the conversation, but that was fine...Mycroft was more than happy to do all the talking, even if it was about nothing of particular importance, as he wiped the tiny doctor clean and took care to make sure his dampened skin was completely dry before coating him in a fine layer of lavender-scented baby powder. “Your Daddy certainly has a knack for finding the best sort of products, doesn’t he?” he admitted as he read the ingredients on the back of the bottle.

Jawn would have agreed, had he been interested in anything more than sucking the back of his thumb and wondering when he would be getting that bottle that Mycroft had mentioned.

Mycroft put the powder back in the nappy bin and finally taped the front of Jawns’ nappy up. “You,” he said, giving it a small pat; “are usually quite the little chatterbox. Are you still trying to wake up, hm? Here, sit up for Mycroft...there we go!” The elder Holmes brother took Jawns’ hands, and helped him sit up before going to click off the bedroom lamp, as well as the baby monitor (and it’s small, blinking red light) sitting beside it.

Mycroft stopped at the doorway and held out his hand to Jawn; “Come along, monkey,” he said, waggling his fingers.

Jawn (who was still sitting at the end of the bed, watching and waiting), in no surprising turn of events, gave Mycroft a look that said ‘Okay, and...?’, and let go of his thumb long enough to hold his arms up.

‘Hm.’ Mycrofts’ head tilted as he considered this, and he waggled his fingers again, one eyebrow raised.

Jawn mirrored Mycroft and tilted his head, pouting. “...U’b?”

Mycroft found himself smiling, in spite of everything...okay, that was just too precious. “Oh, I see; just like your Daddy; yes you are! ‘I’m too little! Pick me up!’,” he said as he walked back to the bed, pitching his voice higher in a near-perfect imitation of Sherlock when he was in headspace. “‘Too little’ indeed, until it’s time for a nap. Or a change. Then you’re oh-so-very-Big!” He lifted Jawn into his arms and hitched him onto his hip. “Neither of you are fooling anyone.”

Jawn laid his head on Mycrofts’ shoulder and gazed up at him through his eyelashes, his thumb already making itself back at home in his mouth.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he carried Jawn out of the room. “Well, yes...Gregory, of course,” he tutted; “but that’s hardly a fair competition to begin with.”

A sound that could possibly-maybe-perhaps be mistaken for a giggle came from his shoulder. Mycroft smiled...another win.

And yet another win! when he opened the refrigerator to find several pre-made bottles awaiting him. Six seemed a bit excessive for someone leaving their ‘infant’ for an hour and a half (two hours TOPS, he’d said), but oh well...who was he to complain?

With a now-warm bottle in one hand and a cozy, not-crying tot in the other, Mycroft made his way into the sitting room and plunked down in his brothers’ chair (not that it was the most practical choice regarding seats, but knowing Sherlock’s habits made him think that this is what a tiny Jawn would be most accustomed to). After a bit of shifting both of themselves around, they finally made themselves comfortable with Jawn curled up in Mycrofts’ lap, leaning back against his chest.

“There we are,” Mycroft said, kissing the top of the babys' head as he held the bottle to his lips. “Now, what else are we to do until your Daddy gets home, hm?”

Jawn shrugged his shoulders.

“Aw. Come, now…” Mycroft lightly nudged Jawn's lips with the nipple of the bottle, urging him to latch on. “Not a single thing comes to mind? No story? Or any of those god-awful cartoons you both watch?”

Jawn shrugged again and, at Mycrofts’ insistence, finally took the bottle in and started to suckle. He reached up to hold it with both hands, covering Mycrofts’ with his own, making the elder Holmes smile.

“Hm. What if…” Mycroft paused to think for a moment; usually when either of the boys were tiny, all they needed to be satisfied was a warm lap, a warm blanket, and a warm bottle. Jawn currently had two out of the three, but he was still a forlorn little biscuit. “What if…” Mycroft mused; “What if we went to the park? You like to visit the ducks, don’t you?”

Jawn only shrugged again, and Mycroft couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed...he happened to enjoy feeding the ducks as well, if anyone cared to know. So much for his winning streak.

He sighed, and used his free hand to reach into his pocket for his mobile. Jawn was no longer crying, no longer wet, and now, no longer thirsty...so, why not take a moment to check his email while all of the little ones’ needs had been met.

And, he may as well text his brother while he was at it, and see when the twat would be dragging his gallivanting boyfriend home with him. He tapped in the passcode with his thumb.

Well, now Jawns' interest was piqued.

The tiny doctor, who had been sitting with his eyes closed, hands curled around his bottle (and had been trying to tap out a message in morse code to Mycroft with his fingers, the way he did with Daddy when either of them felt too small to talk, and was getting a bit sad when Mycroft didn’t tap back), sat up and reached for the phone in Mycrofts’ hand, his eyes wide open and gleaming.

Mycroft rolled his eyes; “Oh, oh of course, the phone! That’s what perks you up.” He made sure to close out his email, and then placed the phone in Jawns’ waiting hand. “Children and their electronics these days...incorrigible,” he muttered.

Jawn, naturally, paid Mycroft’s utterings no mind, leaving him to ramble on and hold his bottle as the little one delightedly tapped the brightly-coloured icon for ‘Candy Crush’.

Mycrofts’ heart seized in a moment of pure panic. “Ah, no,” he said, quickly taking the phone back, garnering himself an indignant squawk from the baby. “You’re not mucking about with my score...here,” he added quickly, flipping through the rest of his apps and tapping on ‘Candy Crush: Jelly Saga’, then giving the phone back to the child before any more tears were had; “Try this one, darling...I didn’t get terribly far into it.”

Jawn’s fussing stopped just as quickly as it had started as soon as he heard the ‘similar-but-completely-new-wink-wink’ music playing along with the ever-familiar art style. The little character that Mycroft assumed to be a sasquatch popped up to welcome them back to the game, and Jawn smiled.

Which was adorable. Very much so. And it made Mycroft smile in turn. He softly kissed the back of Jawns’ hair.

Jawn tilted his head back at the touch, breaking the suction he had on his bottles’ nipple with a sucking pop, and beamed up at Mycroft. “My’!” he babbled as he pointed at the level, just in case Mycroft had missed anything on the screen that was directly in front of his face. “My’, my’!”

“Ye-es, I can see that!” Mycroft wiped away a thin dribble of milk from the corner of the babys’ mouth with his thumb without so much as a second though. “There are monkeys in this one...tiny little monklings, just like you!” he said, and tapped Jawn on the nose. “Look, see...they’re trapped, and you have to collect all of the orange pieces to set them free, so move that one there...yes, that’s it, very good!...”

~*~

“Now, I know you’re not blaming me for that.”

“Just as I know that you’re not denying the fact that we should have been home nearly two hours ago if you had kept your enormous mouth shut, Gavin.”

“You,” Greg said as he trudged up the stairs behind Sherlock, leaning heavily on the bannister; “-are gonna get your bum smacked.”

“Threatening me with a good time is just counterproductive, Gabe.”

The swat that Greg aimed at him just as they reached the top of the stairs only managed to whap against a flap of empty coat as Sherlock chuckled to himself and hopped over the last two steps to the landing. “Not today, Satan!”

“That doesn’t even start with a ‘G’,” Greg grumbled, and was quickly shushed as the detective put his ear to the door, listening.

“Uhhh...why not just go in?” Greg ventured, and was shushed again as Sherlock frowned and tried to press his ear even closer...almost into the wood, if he could manage. “I can’t hear anything,” he said eventually.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Greg was dumbfounded...well, it’s not like it was a new feeling, not when you’re involved with this family in particular, but still. “Just open the bloody door and be done with it; Jesus Christ.”

Sherlock’s frown turned into a sneer, and directed it at Greg; “Mycroft’s right, you swear far too much,” he said. “And you know just how much it pains me to admit that, so that should be taken into account.”

“...Just open the goddamn door, Sherlock.”

“I’m telling,” Sherlock sniffed, but opened the door anyway.

Not much had changed in the hours since Jawn had awoken with a rather rocky start to the second half of his day...but really, there was only so long one could sit in an already uncomfortable seat with an overgrown infant settled on your legs with his bony little backside digging in just the right spot to make them go all pins-and-needles.

Not to mention, there’s only so long a phone battery can last while running a very graphics-heavy game.

So, Mycroft had transferred them to the couch, where he could plug his charger in (and stretch his increasingly weary legs). Other than that...not much had changed.

Well, that, as well as Jawns’ nappy...that had been changed. Twice. And Mycroft had been unable to wrangle the phone from him either time.

Which was fine, because then he didn’t cry about being put down. Which was the biggest win of that afternoon...aside from the twenty-five levels that the littlest monkling had blazed through with a lot of triumphant babbling and pushing the screen in Mycroft’s face, just in case he’d missed all the excitement.

And that was how Sherlock and Greg found them; stretched out on the sofa, snuggled up under a cozy blanket with Jawn reclining against Mycroft’s chest, his dummy lazily fluttering in his mouth as his eyes danced back and forth across the screen.

Sherlock smirked; “...So this is that ‘afternoon of activities’ you were spouting off about,” he said, shrugging out of his coat.

“Yes, well…” Mycroft drawled, his chin resting nicely on top of Jawns’ head; “You left an extremely maudlin child behind,” he added, and lazily turned his gaze to his brother and gave him a wry smile. “It makes an afternoon of fun and games a bit tricky when one of the players can’t stop crying for ‘Daddy’.”

The smug look that had taken hold on Sherlocks’ face faltered; he had known that the chance of Jawn being upset upon waking up to find him gone were great, but (and he was loathe to admit this, too) he and Mycroft did have a sweet fondness for each other. If there was anyone other than Sherlock himself that could console the former soldier while (very) deep in his headspace, it would be Mycroft and Greg.  
If he hadn’t felt completely confident in that, then quite frankly there wouldn’t have been any threat great enough for him to have left him with his brother in the first place. Not while Jawn was this small.

“...Did he?” His little one had barely acknowledged him since he’d gotten home, and now Sherlock gave Jawn a quick once-over; he’d been crying, obviously...the reddened, still-puffy eyes attested to that, but it had been some time since. “He looks fine now,” he admitted. Give his brother credit where credit was due, he supposed. He stepped towards them and reached down, intending to pick Jawn up.

Jawn, who really hadn’t taken notice of Sherlock’s arrival at all, despite everyones’ expectations (least of all Mycrofts’, who’d witnessed the little ones’ broken heart firsthand!), finally let his attention be taken from the game. He looked up, met Sherlock’s gaze, and…

And turned back to the game, without missing a beat. Not even a blink.

And, as if that weren’t enough salt to rub into the wound, Jawn decided at that moment to let out a cheer as he used his last move to switch the winning piece of candy into place, setting off the cheery music to a waterfall of happy sound effects that made the look of utter betrayal splayed upon the detectives’ face all the more perfect!

“I di' i'd, My’coff!” Jawn cheered, shoving the phone in Mycrofts’ face as he laughed, effectively smearing the screen and starting a new round with the tip of his nose. “I win!”

“You certainly did, sweetheart!” Mycroft laughed as he placed a loud, wet-sounding kiss squarely on Jawns' forehead.

“You certainly did!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the very special anon over on Tumblr that requested this fic and gave me the chance to highlight this pair in such a wonderful way!


End file.
